


New Year’s Eve

by fawatson



Category: The Charioteer - Mary Renault
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:17:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aunt Olive babysits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Year’s Eve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greerwatson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/gifts).



> **Prompt:** : Quite a lot of fan fiction focuses on the canonical romances; so I'd prefer a story that's a bit different. Perhaps something about Aunt Olive (past, present, or future), or a school story (not involving Ralph/Hazell), or some slice-of-life at the E.M.S. hospital. Feel free to include other characters. Quite a lot of fan fiction focuses on the canonical romances; so, on the whole, I'd prefer a story that is more-or-less gen—though that depends, of course, on what characters are included during which period in their lives. I certainly don't want canon ignored; it's more a question of focus. Backstory, missing scene, an exploration of characters often overlooked.... Whoever you want to include is fine by me. You don't have to limit yourself to characters who were nominated. I'd prefer something canon-compliant. Futurefic is okay; but I'd rather not have an AU.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them. 
> 
> **Acknowledgements:** Many thanks to Sharon for beta reading. 
> 
> **Author’s Notes:** Laurie is about four years old when this story takes place.

New Year’s Eve

“You may choose _one thing only_ Laurie,” Mummie said, “and _don’t_ take forever about it.” 

Mummie left him sitting in front of boxes of penny sweets while she went off to a different part of the shop with the assistant. Laurie squatted down on the floor, taking care not to sit right down as he’d get his clothes dirty (and earn a scolding). 

There were Pontefract cakes at six for a penny; he could get four coconut teacakes for the same amount. Jelly babies...he’d had some of those for Christmas (he wanted something different this time). Laurie was rather drawn to the sherbet fountains, but one of those would take a whole penny. He was still dithering when his mother returned, shopkeeper trailing after her. 

“Have you _still_ not decided? Really Laurie, you cannot take all day about it. I have a lot to do when we get back home, and we are running late.”

On impulse Laurie dug into the box of licorice whips; he’d not had them before. He stood up, and fished about in his coat pocket for his money, coming up with a dirty hanky, a conker on a bit of string, and two marbles, before the thrupenny bit was found, and duly handed over to the patient shop assistant. One penny, a halfpenny and two farthings, were received as change. Laurie grinned. One thumb caressed the jenny wren on a farthing as he shoved the coins back in his pocket. He _liked_ farthings. In summer they had wrens roosting in the spruce tree in the back garden. Daddy had taught him to listen for them. 

Mummie walked briskly as they left the shop, making a beeline straight for the bus stop. Dusk was falling and there weren’t all that many people on the street now. Those who were out, all seemed to be hurrying. Laurie held Mummie’s hand tightly as passers-by jostled him in their haste. Mummie’s string bag banged against him heavily, until she realised and shifted it over to her other side to sit alongside her handbag. It was starting to rain as they arrived at the bus stop, but the one they needed was just pulling and they hopped on. There were two seats down below, but Laurie turned pleading eyes on Mummie, and she relented and climbed the stairs. They didn’t get the seats right at the front, but the row behind still gave a good view. 

Laurie counted the stops as the bus took them home. There were a lot of them. Mummie said it was the drizzle making people take the bus more. But it meant the conductress only came upstairs to take the money shortly before they reached their stop. She smiled as she showed Laurie how the ticket machine worked and then gave him the tickets to hold, before complimenting Mummie on what a lovely polite little boy she had. Laurie felt somewhat indignant at that. He wasn’t a little boy any more; you didn’t give a _little_ boy the tickets to hold. 

They just had a short walk to get home from where the bus let them off: up to the corner to cross at the light, then first left and past the park with the swings, and at the next corner cross the road (look both ways first), and then ahead two doors on the left. Daddy opened the door just as Mummie got there, so she didn’t have to get her key out. 

“Sorry, I’m so late, darling,” said Mummie, emerging slightly breathless from Daddy’s kiss, “Everywhere was so busy, and there were long queues in lots of the shops; it all took twice as long as I planned.” 

“Never mind,” said Daddy. “You go upstairs and get ready; I’ll take care of young fella-me-lad, here.” 

“If you’re sure….” 

Daddy nodded. 

“I got some cod roe at the fishmonger,” said Mummie from halfway up the stairs. 

Laurie had pulled off his shoes, and was on his way into the kitchen with the heavy shopping bag, when Daddy lifted boy and bag together and carried them the rest of the way. Laurie was put at the kitchen table with a scraper and one enormous potato to peel, while Daddy sorted out the shopping and put it away. Then a large apron was tied round Daddy’s suit and he got to work cooking tea. The potato, peeled, was now cut in smallish pieces, put in a saucepan with water, and set on one gas ring to cook. Daddy pulled a big, black, cast iron fry pan from the back of the cupboard, put that on another gas ring, and put a pat of butter into it. 

“Want to help?” asked Daddy. 

Laurie nodded eagerly.

“Bring your chair over here, then, and you can watch to see things don’t burn,” said Daddy. 

Laurie dragged his chair over; Daddy helped him position it to one side of the cooker. Daddy tied Mummie’s apron on Laurie (to protect from spatters, Daddy explained), before he was allowed to climb up on the chair. Cold, rounded, fishy-smelling shapes went into the fry pan pink and squishy. (Daddy let him poke them with his fingers before he put them in the pan). While Daddy chopped some cabbage from a big green round crinkly head, and put it on to cook too, Laurie watched as the roe slowly turned pale cream colour. Half-way through cooking Daddy reached over to flip them, and then he split them in half, lengthwise, to reveal the still pink middles, turning them over again so the uncooked side was down. Little bits fell off the big pieces of roe and sizzled in the butter, turning brown and crispy while the rest of the food cooked. 

“Table, lad,” said Daddy. 

Laurie got down from the chair and dragged it back to the table. While he hastily set out glasses of water, knives and forks, and napkins, with a great clash and clatter of pans, Daddy drained the potatoes and portioned out the food. He got the biggest amount, then Mummie. Laurie was given a small plate with just a little piece of roe, one piece of potato and a spoonful of cabbage. The plates had just gone on the table as Mummie came down. She was wearing her dressing gown but sat down at the table anyway. Mummie always said he had to get dressed properly before he came down to eat breakfast; and here it was tea-time and she was undressed. But Daddy didn’t seem to think anything odd about it, and just gave her a quick kiss as he helped push her chair in (which was different too; normally he didn’t do that). 

Laurie slathered butter on his potato, and tried cutting the roe with his fork. It slithered round and round on the plate. He reached with his fingers.

“No, use your fork, Laurie. It’s not polite the use your fingers at the dinner table,” reminded Mummie, “and put your napkin on your lap too. You didn’t cut it up for him, Michael,” Mummie directed at Daddy reproachfully. 

“Here we are little man.” Daddy came to the rescue, “like this.” Daddy leaned over and showed him how to manage both knife and fork together, sort of doing it for him, but not like Mummie who just did it all, but letting him help. Laurie grinned as he cut the roe in small pieces. “Now you do the potato,” said Daddy as he turned back to his own food. 

It was a simple meal, quickly consumed by the adults who were clearing up round Laurie as he dawdled over his greens. (He did _not_ like cabbage, but Mummie said he had to eat it because it was good for him.) He was absorbed in the task of getting all the different pieces lined up evenly on his plate, in order, from long to short, when Aunt Olive came into the kitchen.

“Here he is – still playing with his food,” said Mummie. 

Laurie looked up surprised, eyes opened round and wide. Mummie looked so _different_. She was wearing a long dress made of some sort of shimmery blue stuff that caught the light and looked different shades as it moved. And she had nothing on her shoulders…and she had flowers in her hair…and glittery things round her neck and in her ears. 

“Now be a good boy for Aunt Olive, Laurie. We won’t be back until after you’ve gone to bed.” 

Laurie gulped, his eyes open wide again, this time with anxiety; Mummie was going out and _leaving_ him? 

“Oh dear, he’s forgotten again. Remember what I told you, Laurie,” Mummie knelt down beside his chair and gave him a little hug. “Daddy and I are going to the theatre and a party; and Aunt Olive is here to take care of you while we’re out.” 

“But it’s night,” Laurie whispered earnestly, “and you don’t go out at night, because of me. You _said._ ” The memories of arguments half-overheard between his parents made his face crumple, and eyes swim. 

“I know; it’s the first time, Laurie,” said Mummie, “but there’s a first time for everything.” 

“You’re getting to be a big lad now,” said Daddy from the doorway, “so I’m taking your Mummie out dancing and you’re to keep your Aunt Olive company instead. She’ll need you to protect her while we’re out.” 

“Oh.” Protecting his aunt was a new thought for Laurie and he looked dubiously at her. 

“You’d best be off,” reminded Olive, “or the show will start without you. Laurie and I will be fine here together. We’re old friends.” 

And they were gone. 

“You look about done with that,” said Aunt Olive, and she rescued him from the cold soggy cabbage by the simple expedient of dumping it in the bin. “Here,” she said, “have an apple instead.” 

He reached out to take the small yellow and red fruit from her and rubbed it on his jumper to make it shiny before he bit into it. Aunt Olive had turned to the sink where she was filling the basin with water, white frothy suds growing ever higher as the taps ran fast. 

“Finish your apple and you can wash while I dry,” she said. 

Laurie abandoned his apple core on the table and climbed up on the chair his aunt provided. Dutifully he waited while she tied on an apron and pushed his sleeves up, before he plunged his hands into the water. The pots and pans made nice loud noises, different according to size, and pouring water from the little cups into the fry pan and scrubbing it out was great fun. He was, inevitably, soaked by the time the dishes were done; but it was time to change for bed anyway. 

He showed Aunt Olive where his pyjamas were, and bed-socks and slippers; and she helped him fold his clothes neatly (and put his dirty pants in the washing hamper). To his surprise she didn’t make him brush his teeth right away, and get into bed. 

“It’s New Year’s Eve,” she said, “so we get to stay up a bit later to wish farewell to the old year and welcome the new; and we can have a bit of a treat while we’re waiting.” 

So he got to come downstairs again. The radio was on in the sitting room; and the fire crackled invitingly. He’d been given a nice large set of soldiers for Christmas and showed them to Aunt Olive, who surprised him by sitting on the floor with him and showing a proper interest. She had to be told a lot of stuff. She did silly things like try to put the cavalry in with the infantry. But she didn’t tell him he was taking up too much space and not to play where people would stumble over his toys; pretty soon the throw cushions from the chairs were standing in for hills, and his army was marching through the Khyber Pass on the way to put down the native uprising. After a while she got him a glass of milk and brought out a big tin of Gray Dunn and let him take _three_ Blue Riband biscuits. Face smeared with chocolate, Laurie played on while Aunt Olive knit. 

“Time for bed, Laurie.” 

The gentle tap on his shoulder roused him from where he lay propped against one elbow, amidst the detritus of a successful battle. A huge yawn caught him by surprise. Aunt Olive helped him find where all the soldiers had got to and pack them away, before making him brush his teeth. They were back to the normal routine, he could see, and he knelt by his bed to say his prayers before climbing in. Except…Mummie wasn’t there to tuck him in. 

“Aunt Olive,” he asked, “is Mummie never coming back?” 

“Of course she is, Laurie.” She looked down at him, her face kindly though puzzled. 

“But she always tucks me in.” Laurie’s lower lip trembled. 

There was a long pause, then gently Olive suggested, “Shall we wait downstairs for her together?”

At his nod she pulled back the covers and he swung his feet over to find his slippers again. Downstairs he snuggled on the sofa under the crocheted afghan she’d brought from the foot of his bed. 

“Shall I read you a story, while we wait, Laurie?” 

He nodded sleepily. 

“What would you like to hear,” asked Aunt Olive. 

“Peter Rabbit,” he mumbled. 

Olive smiled. Her present this Christmas had been the complete works of Beatrix Potter. 

“...and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail and Peter….”

A few minutes later she looked down at the boy beside her on the sofa; his thumb was still in his mouth but Laurie’s eyes were fast shut. Olive read on.

* * * * * * * 

The bells in the church down the road had chimed midnight several hours since before the front door opened, admitting two revellers.

“Careful!” Lucy exclaimed in a loud whisper, as Michael shut the door somewhat abruptly. “We don’t want to wake them.” 

“Don’t worry, love.” Michael took the opportunity to caress his wife’s shoulders as he helped her take off her coat, and dropped a light kiss on the side of her neck. “They’ll both be fast asleep.” 

“Michael,” Lucy was suddenly alert. “There’s still a light on in the sitting room.” 

Quietly both tiptoed to look in. Olive, garbed decorously in tartan dressing gown over long flannelette nightie, lay curled on her side on the sofa, Laurie resting against her. On the floor beside them rested the book which had fallen from Olive’s hand. Lucy smiled at the peaceful scene; but Olive would be sorry in the morning if she slept in that cramped position all night. 

“Olive?” Lucy shook her cousin’s shoulder gently. 

She came awake with a start, “Lucy! Oh!” 

“Here, let me take Laurie,” offered Michael, and reached over to scoop up his sleeping son. 

“He was too heavy for me to carry upstairs after he fell asleep,” explained Olive. 

“I understand. No, don’t get up,” said Lucy quickly, “we’re going straight up. Here –” She spread a quilt over Olive and tucked a pillow under her head. “Sleep well.” 

“Did you at least have a nice evening?” 

“It was lovely,” said Lucy, “I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.” 

Upstairs she paused briefly at the door to her son’s bedroom; would that he always looked so peaceful. He had not roused from being moved and did not stir now. 

“Bed my sweet?” whispered Michael from behind her; his arms came round as he turned her to face him. Lucy smiled happily, lifting her face to his kiss. It had been a good New Year’s Eve.


End file.
